


Fixing Simon Snow

by sorbriquette



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Arranged Marriage, But also, Im writing my own lore to keep it close to the OG, M/M, No Magic AU, Slow Burn, Taming of the Shrew AU, This isn't a period piece, and many many other changes, but u know, except Baz tries to organise it himself a lil so is it really arranged, graphic descriptions of waistcoats, outlandish historical inaccuracy, technically its, without the shitty ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-10-04 00:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorbriquette/pseuds/sorbriquette
Summary: Simon Snow, an orphan taken into the guardianship of Davy Mage, has, without his knowledge or consent, been promised to Basilton Pitch. With a catch, if Baz can't fix Simon's behavioural issues and general lack of class, the deal's off. Simon being unwilling and difficult turns out to be a small obstacle in comparison to Baz slowly discovering he doesn't want Simon to change at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Right so I say Taming of the Shrew AU but it's more like VERY VERY loosely inspired by because I haven't read it in ages and did not like the ending. Also Simon aint half as snappy as Kate and them's the facts. Hopefully updating once or twice a week?
> 
> Thanks as always to my brilliant betas:
> 
> bpitchbitch.tumblr.com  
> esabettie.tumblr.com  
> https://jackswrights.tumblr.com/

**Baz**

I was, to say the least, shocked when Father finally relented and found me a male to marry. I was more shocked when I found out who it was.

Heir to the House of Mage. Long-standing enemies of my own family. It must be quite the dowry. And from what I hear it ought to be. Simon Snow is well known to be something of a disaster amongst the nobility. No manners, a terrible conversationalist and far more interested in swordsmanship than any kind of intellectual pursuits.

Davy Mage apparently plucked him out of some orphanage, that's the story he tells people anyway. I've heard more than a few rumours that he's actually Mage's bastard son. I wouldn't be surprised. The man was always more self-righteous than actually righteous and there is something of a resemblance between the two of them.

Frankly though, disaster, bastard, whatever he is, at least he is a  _ he _ . Last time Father told me he'd organised a possible partner for me he'd brought back Agatha Wellbelove and neither of us were particularly happy with that arrangement. So obviously it didn't work out.

"What's the catch?" I ask my father because he wouldn't fold this easily, not after being so adamant for so long.

I see something tug at the corner of my father's perpetually pursed lips and think maybe I've impressed him. "His father won’t give him away unless you can straighten him out."

I raise an eyebrow at my father. He seems to take my meaning and elaborate.

"I mean, Basilton, that if you want to wed him, you'll have to fix his behavioural issues."

I scoff, "I won't wish to wed him if I can't."

It hangs unspoken between us. My father doesn't think I can manage it. He thinks Snow is just going to press on being trouble and when this falls through that I'll finally accept marriage with a woman.

He's wrong. On both accounts.

I  _ will  _ fix Snow. And if I somehow fail? I don't want him specifically, but I'll still want  _ a _ him.

But of course, my father thinks it's that simple to just become interested in women. He thinks there's a way that I'll ever be interested in women at all. He's wrong about that too.

I pull myself from the plush chair in my father's office. It's late, I should be turning in. "Anything else Father?"

"He'll be on his way tomorrow," my Father comments, swirling a glass of what I think is wine in one hand as he gazes into the fireplace, "you'll only have a few months, so I wish you luck."

I don't respond. I just nod and leave, wondering if I can keep myself awake long enough that I should get Vera to run a bath.

**Simon**

I'm not sure what's happening exactly. Just that Mage told me I'm going to spend a few months at Pitch Manor.

Frankly, I don't relish the idea. Mage is always going on about how the Pitches are awful, the absolute embodiment of everything wrong with the world, everything he's trying to fix.

Taxes and associations and secret meetings. That's how he's apparently fixing things, the wealth gap and such. I'm not sure how him owning half the countryside helps fix that. Or how using the taxes to build a militia helps. But that is information that isn't really my business.

This is my business though. Me being shipped halfway across the country into the waiting arms of our enemy. So why didn't he tell me about this?

Just tossed me in a carriage first thing, having some servants tote the few things I own out after me.

A carriage which is now pulling up outside of Pitch Manor.

I'm not scared of them, despite how Mage goes on about them being evil incarnate. I am uneasy though. He didn't even let me grab my sword. Something about not wanting to be seen as sending them a threat. Which if anything, only serves to make this more confusing.

I wonder if I can convince the Pitches to give me a sword? They're probably worried I'd slit their throats in the night. I don't see why I'd need a sword for that though, I could just nick a knife from the kitchens.

The carriage pulls up before I can work out the details of that particular plan.

Just as I reach for the door handle, the carriage door swings open of its own accord. Or it seems someone has opened it for me. Maybe they are the posh gits Mage makes them out to be.

I only become surer of that when I spot them. Malcolm and Basilton Pitch, standing there with twin expressions of apathy. I wonder if it's just some kind of hereditary facial structure or if the whole family gets together to practice those.

Basilton doesn’t look like his father, not completely. His skin is several shades darker and his eyes are a deep grey. Where his hair is stark raven, his father’s is tinged with grey though that’s probably more to do with age than anything. Still, they bear the same sharp features, all edges and lines.

Natasha Pitch was the last line of defence against Mage. The last proper one at least. He talks about it all the time. Though I don’t know the circumstances of her death, we can barely get a few weeks without Mage bringing it up.

Both Pitches seem to examine me, though somehow the younger's gaze is more harrowing than his father's. But maybe that's just because Malcolm Pitch steps forward first.

"Master Snow," he greets offering me a hand.

I reach out and shake it. "Uh, hey," I give him a somewhat weak smile.

Basilton looks like he's just been punched in the gut at that, though his father doesn't seem phased or surprised. My lack of etiquette isn't exactly a secret. There's so many rules and no sense behind any of them. I don't get why anyone would bother with any of that.

I wasn't raised nobility and Mage never took it upon himself to teach me. Just hiring subpar tutors who gave up easily, not used to dealing with quite my calibre of uncouth.

"A pleasure," Malcolm says, mouth pressed into a thin line, "I'll leave Basilton to show you around, I suppose it's important to let you two get acquainted first."

I'm not quite sure what he means by that but I don't question it. It's not like anyone ever answers my questions . Basilton, sullen as he is, is about my age though, so maybe I could get something out of him.

I don't even remember my suitcase until I see a couple of servants carrying it up the steps. I don't ask. No one else seems interested in commenting.

Malcolm retreats, as do basically all of the servants.

Mage always made sure I had a few people with me at all times. I never quite understood why. I never really even saw it as odd, I just assumed it was what nobility did. But they all trickle away back into the manor until it's just me and Basilton.

He holds his arm out at a weird angle, looking pointedly at me for a few moments. I look back, not breaking eye contact but also terribly confused as to what he's doing.

Eventually, he drops his arm and just motions for me to follow him inside. "The grounds are extensive, if I show them to you it will have to be on horseback. So we'll leave that for another day. You are permitted to explore them of course, just don't go too far without someone, we wouldn't want you getting lost or hurt."

Is that a threat? I'm genuinely unsure if he's threatening me or not. I suppose I'll find out in good time. I'd ask now but he's already barrelling on. "The south wing is for leisure," he tells me, holding a door off to the side of a rather expansive main hall open for me. "Music room, library, ballroom," he lists off, leading me through each and giving me some commentary as he does.

It doesn't help, not really. And frankly, I don't really listen. We're on our way back to the entrance hall when I finally ask my question. "It's lovely and all, really," I open with because I'm not great at these things but I don't  _ try  _ to be rude, "but why am I here."

A crack appears in Basilton's uncaring mask for but a moment. Eyes widening and mouth falling open for the shortest time before he gathers himself, brushing a few errant strands of hair back out of his face. "Mage didn't tell you?"

I just shake my head. He seems to know at least, whether or not he'll tell me is a different story.

Basilton pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, inhaling slowly, "Even when he's cooperating, he's an annoyance." Usually, I'd object, stand up for Mage, he gave me a home after all. But right now, it is annoying and I think Basilton might give me answers so I keep my mouth shut. "We are to be wed," he explains.

"Who?"

I thought that perhaps his exasperation was at its peak, but apparently, that's the one emotion he doesn't mind showing. "You and I, Snow."

I do a double take, staring at Basilton as I process what he's saying. The longer it goes on the higher his eyebrow rises and the more pressured I feel to say something, but all I can articulate is, "no."

Basilton seems unphased and shrugs, "somehow I doubt you have a say in the matter."

"Do you?" I ask, still, completely aghast Mage has delivered into the midst of our enemy and now wants me to  _ marry  _ one of them.

He exhales, his head tilting side to side, "somewhat."

"Do you even want to marry me?"

"Not as you are."

I don't try to stop my face from contorting into a scowl, "as I am?" I press.

He raises a hand between us before gesturing to all of me. "Boorish," he supplies.

Boorish. What a prat. I want to hit him but I'm worried that will only prove his point. "So we're calling this off then?"

It's a relief, really, I didn't want to marry him when he wasn't being an arse, I want to even less now.

But he shakes his head and ushers me along into another wing of the house. "Definitely not, I just have a couple of months to fix you."

"Fix me?" It basically comes out as a hiss. I'm not sure I've ever sounded so annoyed before. But I'm also not sure I've ever been this insulted.

"Yes," he says, casually, callously and with that same bored expression across his face, "I will not take a husband who acts like a brute."

"I won’t be taking you as a husband at all," I snap back, his calm only stoking my rage.

Basilton scoffs merely walking me through rooms now instead of explaining them. Dining room, kitchen, a stupidly fancy lounge and down a corridor to what I think is bedrooms. "Then you'll have to discuss it with your father. Besides, it's not like anyone else would want you."

For every ounce of anger in me, he seems twice as stoic and I want nothing more than to wipe that smug look off his face. So, I do it the only way I know how. I draw my arm back and swing at him.

I don't think he was expecting it because I clock him right in the nose and he stumbles back, blood dripping down his front to stain his shirt and his waistcoat. Maybe I'll regret that later. Maybe I should feel bad. Right now, though I'm just glad to have shut him up.

I don't think anyone’s ever hit him before because he blinks a few times before regathering his composition.

I expect him to come back at me with a sneer and some biting words. Maybe I've misjudged him though because instead a fist connects with my jaw and it's my turn to stumble back.

"Fuck," I curse, rubbing my face and gearing up to jump at him again.

Someone interrupts us though.

"Well that didn't take long, what did you say to him, Baz," a voice pipes up from beside us.

I'm so used to being chastised that it takes me a moment to realise she's not talking to me.

"The truth," Basilton- Baz- says as he draws a handkerchief from his waistcoat and uses it to wipe the blood from his face, "that he's unrefined and unwanted."

The girl, (woman?) steps in between us. She's shorter than me and rounder than most but she seems to be trying to size Baz up and I feel immediately fond of her for it. Her hair is a strikingly unnatural blue (I didn't even know hair came in blue) and her glasses are thick both in terms of lenses and the way they curve out past the edges of her face at a point.

"Snow, this is Bunce, she helps along the wear and tear on our library as well doing countless other useless and annoying things," Baz says, still pinching the bridge of his nose but aside from that, you'd think he was in perfect health.

The girl holds out a hand to me and I take it, "Penelope," she corrects, "anyone who's not an utter prick can call me Penelope, or Penny."

For all the words laden with insult, neither Baz nor Penny seems particularly annoyed at the other. If anything, I think I see the corner of Baz's mouth twitch up ever so slightly, but I'm probably just imagining things.

"Uh, Simon," I manage, letting my hand fall from rubbing my jaw to clasp hers.

"Oh, I know, my parents tutor the Pitches, so they'll be giving you lessons too." She doesn't let go of my hand, pulling me off down the corridor. "I show him to his room, Baz."

Baz doesn't protest, just waves her off with his free hand and turns around.

"What's his problem?" I ask Penny before Baz is entirely out of earshot.

"You'll need to be more specific."

That makes me laugh, but laughter only serves to reignite the pain in my jaw. "What's his problem with me?"

Penny shrugs, "I don't think you were what he's been hoping for."

For all his faults (and I've only known him less than an hour but I know they are many) he's still attractive and he has money and status, so I'm not sure why he isn't just getting whomever he wants. It's not like it would be hard for him.

"What is he hoping for?"

Penny looks me up and down for a moment, dropping my hand when she seems confident that I'm going to follow. "I'm not sure. I don't think he's sure either, really."

I don't press her further, I'm not even sure what question to ask.

"This is your room," she tells me pushing open a door to reveal a room far larger and more elaborately decorated than any room has a right to be. "Someone's already brought your things up though somehow I doubt the Pitches will let you wear them," she nods to a trunk at the foot of the stupidly large four-poster bed, "I can only assume there's still hope for you to escape if Baz hasn't just burnt them."

"What's wrong with the way I dress?"

Penny gives me a once over. I follow her gaze over my patched tunic, loose pants and worn boots. Admittedly, I probably did look like a servant standing next to Baz earlier. Or maybe someone else's servants, because all his have waistcoats and cravats as well.

"Where do all those taxes Mage demands  _ go _ if none is left over to buy you new clothes," she says reaching out and tugging at a piece of tunic that's been sewn closed where it tore.

I try not to pout. "I don't know, you think he tells me?"

She shrugs, "well he certainly doesn't tell us," she smiles at me a moment, genuinely, everything about her feels genuine. "Baz will probably have someone summon you for lunch soon, so best of luck."

I don't need to ask her why she's wishing me luck. I had little more than a few moments with Basilton Pitch and I feel like all the luck in the world will be little help against him.

I don't ask why she's leaving or try to stop her. I need the time alone to prepare for this. To figure out what in the hell is going on here and how to put an end to it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: "I'll update once or twice a week!"  
> Also me: has written like 1k in the past week
> 
> Bear with it folks, sorry, I'll try to pick up the pace!

**Simon**

Baz does summon me for lunch maybe he expected me to change because he looks me up and down with the same judgement as Penny but tenfold. 

He's changed, but I suppose he had to since his last lot of clothes got covered in blood. Somehow his waistcoat has only gotten more extravagant though, embroidered with gold thread and fabric the same black as his hair.

He's so fucking pretentious.

The rest of his family does not join us to eat. When I mention it he just brushes me off with something about me not being fit to eat with his family. Or him. But apparently, I'm his 'responsibility' or something equally annoying.

So, we eat in the garden, which isn't altogether unpleasant. It's not raining but it's not exactly sunny either. Still, the plants are well tended and the patio we eat on is nestled between hedges and feels oddly private. I'm not even sure I'd be able to find my way here if not for the servant who led me.

Baz sits opposite me, on a cushioned chair with one leg crossed over the other, seemingly more interested in me than the food.

I mightn't like Baz but this food is amazing. There are roast beef sandwiches and pastries and some of the nicest tea I've ever had. Baz wrinkles his nose when I sully it with loads of milk but I pay him no heed, dumping several spoons of sugar in after and looking him dead in the eye as I do it.

And the scones.

_ The scones _ .

They're amazing. Probably the best thing I've ever eaten and I'm sure they're freshly baked because when I spread butter over them it melts until they're soaked through and butter starts trickling down the sides.

Baz looks less impressed. Maybe because this is regular for him or maybe just because he enjoys looking unimpressed. It's hard to tell. He just pokes food around his plate and every time he eats something he does so with knife and fork, even the bloody sandwiches.

It's unsettling. Him giving me all this food. Nice even.

"Do you like it?" he asks me, obviously doing his best to make it seem like he doesn't care to hear my answer. He waits for it anyway.

I nod vigorously, crumbs flying across the table as I say, "Yeah, it's amazing."

I see his mouth twitch up into a sneer, looking positively disgusted by me. "Well enjoy it, because until we teach you some proper manners, this is the last time you'll be enjoying anything other than roasts and gruel."

My mouth clacks shut though the noise is largely muffled by the food I have to bite through to make the gesture. Does he really think that a roast is the kind of food you serve as punishment?

"You seem to particularly like the scones, so I think we'll give you those back last."

He's evil. Actually, properly evil. The kind of evil you get hired to put a sword through, not forced to marry.

"That's bullshit," I snap at him when I finally manage to swallow my food. Or mostly swallow it. I can feel it slowly moving down my throat and it hurts but I try not to let it show.

Baz leans forward, not in interest but to rest his elbow on the table and perch his chin in his hand. Certainly not proper etiquette but I doubt he'd bother with it around me. He certainly seems more 'do as I say not as I do'. "And yet every time you open your mouth, either to speak or to shovel food into it, you make me more sure it's a necessity."

I gulp down tea, trying to make it seem like I just need a drink and not letting him know I'm trying to wash down the brick of food slowly making its way down my oesophagus.

"Enjoy it while you can Snow," he tells me, still watching me like he knows exactly how much I'm suffering right now, "it will be the last time you get scones. But do hurry up, I need to show you the stables."

**Baz**

When I was younger, I was more idealistic about the man I would end up with. And when I was much younger, I thought it would be a woman but that's beside the point.

With each potential wife my father tried to pitch me, and every girl he tried to make me talk to at a ball, I slowly started hacking away at that ideal. Settling for less. Just wanting a man instead of the perfect one.

I was not, however, expecting my standards to sink so low as Simon Snow.

He's the opposite of everything I'd always dreamed of.

I want someone who'll debate me and he didn't so much as look up in the library, so he's obviously not intellectual.

It was always a long shot but I wanted another musician, piano maybe, so we could play a duet. Snow seems minimally interested in music as well.

Obviously, he'd have been well mannered and clean cut and charming. Not charming to me, I don't particularly care about that, but charismatic certainly. Enough to engage with the other nobility with me. Enough to offset my sour disposition. Enough to convince my father that this hypothetical man was truly as perfect as I thought. So, my father would like him. So, my father would let me keep him.

Snow though?

Snow can barely string a sentence together and even then, it's littered with 'uhm's and 'ah's.

General attractiveness was important but less essential to the rest I suppose. That is the one category in which Snow excels though.

He's gorgeous.

Bronze curls I want to run my fingers through. They look so soft and they bounce a little when he walks, turning almost golden when the light catches them at the right angle. Making  _ my  _ breath catch when that happens.

And tawny skin spattered with moles and freckles. I want to trace my fingertips from dot to dot along his skin. I want to trace the same lines with my lips. And my tongue.

His blue eyes are so very plain but if they weren’t, I think it would all be a bit much. Too much going on, nothing to focus it. They add balance, like he's a work of fucking art specifically designed to ruin me.

I can only see so much of it under ill-fitting clothing but his body seems nice too. Broad shouldered and tall (but importantly, not taller than me). He seems a bit on the slim side but that won’t be an issue with the way he eats. I mightn't be inclined to give him decadent things just yet, but they will be plentiful.

I suppose that's part of all this though. I can take the stupid, uncultured, stunning, catastrophe that Snow is and shape him into what I want.  _ Exactly  _ what I want. Books, piano, polite conversation and all.

Maybe.

If I can pull this off.

We walk in silence to the stables. Well, it would be silent if not for Snow's insistence that he breathe through his mouth. I comment on it multiple times but he just brushes me off.

I think he's still mad about the scones.

**Simon**

I'm still mad about the scones.

I stay mad about the scones all through the walk to the stables.

I think I'll stay mad about the scones forever maybe.

It is a long trek to the stables. They're on the other side of the house from the garden where we ate and the walk there gives me time to appreciate how truly massive Pitch Manor is. Not even the estate, which sprawls on further than the eye can see, just the house itself is enormous.

Enormous but far from empty.

From what I can gather the servants live on the premises, as do the staff. Penelope and her parents (and people I think might be her siblings that I've passed in the halls). I wouldn't be surprised if the stable hands live here too. There's certainly the space for it.

Baz keeps making snippy comments. About my breathing, about my posture, about the way I walk.

I do my best to ignore him. Because I think maybe he just wants a rise. But also, because I know I won’t get a proper retort out and will just end up taking another swing at him.

I don't know what I expected when we got to the stables. A load of horses being doted on. And while there is certainly that, I did not expect a pretty young girl to be tending to them.

"Wellbelove," Baz greets with a nod as we approach.

The girl starts some, appearing completely enamoured with the horse she's brushing. "Basilton," she offers a sweet smile, blonde hair fluttering through the air around her as she turns. Her eyes rest on me for a moment and I start to wish that I had changed before coming here. "Finally got one you want then?"

It's more statement than a question but Baz still replies, "Unfortunately not."

Wellbelove seems to look confused for a moment but she still affixes me with a smile and offers me a delicate hand. I shake it, unsurely, and she and Baz exchange a glance.

"Agatha Wellbelove," she introduces herself with what I think is a curtsey.

"Uh- Simon Snow," I return with a nod.

She and Baz exchange another glance.

"I need you to teach him to ride."

I swivel to look at Baz, unlike him, I don't have to fake my emotions as I look completely affronted. "What?"

Baz completely ignores me, keeping his gaze trained on Agatha and not even giving me a sideways glance, "You have him for two hours then I'll come back and get him."

"What?" My words are more outraged then and joined by an exclamation of Agatha's.

Baz just turns on his heel and walks away from both of us after a bored, "thank you, Wellbelove."

"Basil." Agatha makes a noise something like an irritated snap but far more elegant.

I square my shoulders and set off after Baz, causing Agatha to protest again, "Simon."

"Oi," I snap, grabbing at his shoulder but perhaps hitting him before has set him on edge because he sidesteps me.

Baz spins back around to face me, still just looking bored. "What?"

Honestly, I hadn't planned this far, so I stand there sputtering for a few moments, "I just- I don't - why-"

Baz groans and puts a hand to his forehead like I've somehow disappointed him yet again. "Surely you can manage a sentence, come on Snow, just one."

I effectively growl, "I can't ride."

"Well, Wellbelove will teach you, now go." He points a finger over my shoulder, looking far too much like someone trying to direct a disobedient dog for my liking.

I stand a little taller and affix him with a glare, "Fuck off, I'm not your pet."

"No, I'm sure most pets are much smarter than you."

"I'm sure there are plenty that are less of a bitch than you." I snap back and Baz just raises an eyebrow, "dogs, I'm talking about literal bitches."

Baz gives me a long slow look, pursing his lips, eyebrow still raised. "I got it, it just wasn't very good. Now go get on a horse and hopefully you'll have something better in two hours."

"But-"

Baz just turns away again and I feel a hand on my elbow as Agatha appears beside me. It makes me jump but her touch is light and gentle so I don't flinch away.

"Trust me, the horses have much better manners, come on," she pulls me in the opposite direction as Baz either ignores or doesn't hear us.

As it happens, Agatha is great.

Horses, I don't like. But Agatha is great. Even if she does give me a withering look every few minutes that stings as badly as Baz's insults. She doesn't make me ride around or anything, takes her sweet time introducing me to all the horses, I forget nearly all their names but I savour not having to ride any of them for a while.

Then she makes me lead one them around, which is also not awful.

But then she makes me ride one. Not properly, I just sit on it and she leads the horse around. She seems more interested in the horses than me but we still chat, if only because it helps distract me.

"So, do you live here?" I ask hesitantly.

Agatha makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "God no, my family has an estate an hour's ride away, I'm just here for the stables." She enunciates her point by giving the horse I'm atop a gentle pet. If the way it jostled me as it walked wasn't enough to prevent me blocking out the horse, then that brings me sharply back to reality.

"You don't have horses?"

Really the words estate combined with Agatha's frankly upper-class demeanour make me wonder why she wouldn't.

Agatha gives a heavy sigh, "Mage took them for his military."

She seems disappointed, annoyed, a little hurt even, it makes me feel bad. I know I shouldn't, what Mage does isn't my problem, but still.

"And he didn't take Baz's?"

"He tried," Agatha mutters, "Malcolm threw a fit, or as much of one as he can manage without seeming upset or making any facial expressions. And Fiona said she'd burn down the barn and slit all the horses’  throats before she let Mage take them." She grimaces as she speaks, "They don't even like them, they just don't want Mage to have them."

"Fiona?" I ask, pulling Agatha from her thoughts and the frown across her face.

"Baz's aunt, on his mother's side," she explains, obviously seeing the frown on my face and continuing, “she lives in town, not here, prefers to be able to get to the tavern easily. Prefers ale and drunkards to champagne and nobles."

Honestly, compared to everyone here and their perpetual sneers, she sounds like a breath of fresh air. But Agatha crinkles her nose as she speaks, obviously not particularly fond of this Fiona.

Agatha leads my horse back into the stable. I don't so much get off as fall off, landing on my arse on the stable floor, my only solace being that I don't land in a pile of horse shit. Agatha keeps it quite clean in here, not herself of course, mainly by snapping or batting her eyes at stable hands.

I hear laughter, with a snort in its midst and then faux coughing as Baz tries to cover it up. Not so perfect after all I suppose.

"Does me learning to be a fancy prick involve having to laugh like that?"

Baz's expression quickly contorts back into a glower, banishing the thought that he's capable of feeling any kind of positive emotions. "Step one is teaching you how to stand, instead of rolling around on the floor like an infant." He snaps back, tilting his head to the side and giving me the most condescending look I've ever seen.

Before I can respond Agatha cuts in, "You two are acting like you're married already," she sighs, leading the horse away, shooting me an unconcerned look at where I'm still laying on the floor.

If the glare I give her is annoyed, Baz's is downright livid. She doesn't pay much heed to either.

"Snow," Baz says, getting my attention back and giving me a pointed look.

"What now?"

"Get off the ground the horses defecate on and go get changed for dinner."

I frown at him, getting to my feet. "Are we eating with your parents?"

"No, we've been through this, you are far from ready for that."

We have been through that, but it doesn't really make sense. "Then why do I have to change?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Because I don't want a dinner companion who smells like horse."

Agatha sticks her head out of the stable, glowering at Baz, "there is nothing wrong with horses."

"Not if they're the main course, certainly not," Baz says and Agatha looks like she may hit him, "but if Snow smells like one, with the way he eats, he would be indistinguishable. If perhaps less well-groomed than your horses Wellbelove."

"Fuck off," I snap at Baz, feeling the overwhelming urge to hit him again. Really that is the main emotion Baz makes me feel it seems.

Baz seems amused at my response but Agatha crinkles her nose in distaste at my language, "I concur, both of you please-" she hesitates obviously hesitant to choose the same phrase as me, "leave."

"Gladly," Baz sighs, turning away and walking off again, beckoning me to follow over his shoulder.

I stand my ground out of pure spite.

It takes him a moment to realise and then rounds on me arms folded, "Snow, let me be clear, unless you bathe and change, you aren't getting dinner. I don't care if it happens now, or tonight or not for a week, I'm not eating with you unless you're clean and you're not eating unless it's with me."

I groan and trudge on after him, wondering if there will be any knives at dinner sharp enough to end him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Righto fair warning; this may never get finished, I have written 1 chapter this entire year (chapter 4 not this one) despite an excess of free time. So who knows? This was not my intent, usually, 3 chapters is enough to gauge if I'm gonna finish something but apparently I was wrong this time?
> 
> So there u are, fair warning, 50/50 this may never get completed read at your own peril
> 
> That being said, this is entirely my uselessness, ya'll have been lovely and I greatly appreciate ur support

**Simon**

"He's evil Pen,  _ pure evil _ ," I groan.

Penny's nice. She came to see me after dinner, brought a tray with tea and milk and sugar. Then she sat down on my bed and started chatting with me.

Maybe I should marry Penny instead, she'd at least be tolerable.

Penny waves me away though, "he's not so bad once you get used to him."

"He said no scones, Penny. Have you had the scones? They're amazing."

Penny groans and rolls her head back against the headboard. "Yes Simon, we've been through this at least thrice."

She's right, we have. "Sorry, I'm just really annoyed about the scones."

"You don't say?" She says sarcastically, with a smirk that almost rivals Baz's.

"Why are you here, Pen?" I ask taking a sip of my tea. Tea that she'd given me a somewhat disgusted look when I'd poured half the milk into it.

Penny gives a small hum, "well, my family isn't super well off, not like the Pitches anyway. And Mum hates Mage and this is about as far from him as you can get. And have you  _ seen  _ the library," she asks even though she knows I have, "it's wonderful. Who wouldn't want to live with that?"

I haven't known Penny for that long, hell I've seen her twice, both times with a different book under her arm. So, I figure she quite likes books. A lot.

Penny doesn't hide her distaste for Mage. Not like when Agatha assured me, she didn't dislike him, just the fact that he took her horses. The Wellbeloves actually seem very pro-Mage.

Penny less so.

"I meant why are you here?" I point my tealess hand downwards to the bed we're sitting on. "In my room. Talking to me."

She gives a small shrug and an easy smile. "You seem a bit out of your depth here. Thought you could use a friend. One who doesn't sleep on silk sheets and use multiple spoons for one meal."

I grimace, thinking back to the frankly unnecessary amount of cutlery I'd had to sort through at dinner. Baz had explained it once and then snapped at me every time I'd gotten something wrong. Frankly, I don't see why you can't eat, soup, and cake with the same spoon, you lick all the food off it anyway.

"I-" I'm not really sure what to say to that. Baz has frankly been nothing but a prat, but most people here seem nice, if distant. "Wait, you didn't have to learn all this stuff?"

Penny shakes her head, "god no, my parents just tutor Baz siblings, and maybe you now. You're going to  _ marry  _ him." I must cringe because when I look back at Penny she looks concerned. "If you don't want to marry him why are you here?"

I shrug, some of my tea spilling out and onto my pants. It's not hot, it's been long enough and I filled it with enough milk that it's far from boiling. Penny still hands me a cloth and I start drying my leg. "I didn't know I was coming, I just got dropped in a carriage and told to go."

Her frown only deepens. "Mage didn't tell you what was going on?"

I just shake my head.

Penny's hand balls into a fist between us. "What an absolute arse."

I just shrug again, letting out a long exhale. I'm still not sure what to say, so I don't say anything.

Penelope is silent too, at least for a moment. But then she launches into a tirade about how awful Baz is, and Mage and how none of this is fair. I find myself getting more and more fond of her with every word.

She doesn't leave till much later. I'm tired enough to be glad she's leaving, but I like her well enough that it makes me miss her, particularly with the way everyone else around here is.

**Baz**

I glare at Snow across the breakfast table.

It's hard. He is attractive and I figure the more I glare at him, the more I can unsettle him. But it's still hard because he eats like an animal.

"You know what would make this better?" He asks me, tapping a spoon on the side of a bowl of porridge that he's inhaling despite the fact that he apparently thinks it's awful. "A scone."

I give a long, pointed hum of agreement as I pick at the half a scone on my plate, the one I got specifically to annoy him. "Would it?"

"Yeah, a warm scone slathered in butter."

"Such a shame," I say as I pick up the remainder of my scone and take a bite, "there's no more scones."

Snow levels a glare at me for several moments before he gets a strange and concerning glint in his eye. "Fine, just butter then."

And then he does the unbelievable and takes the whole dish of butter to his side of the table. He draws his spoon from his porridge and sticks it directly into the butter, it slides through cleanly.

I should reach across the table and snatch it. I'm not sure if I don't because he's caught me off guard or because I'm too shocked to do anything. I just watch in horror as he looks me dead in the eye for the first time all morning, then shoves the entire spoon of butter into his mouth. And now I'm the one unsettled.

That’s it.

It's over.

I can't marry him.

I'm never going to be able to kiss him.

I can't even stop myself from covering my mouth with my hand as I resist the urge to throw up.

When I finally work up the courage to look back at Snow, he does it again, another entire spoon of butter. It near enough trips my gag reflex. Really when I thought about the first time Snow would do that, I did not think it would be over breakfast and while eating butter.

"Well, I suppose we're taking that away too," I say, pointedly avoiding looking at him.

"No," he snaps and in my periphery,  I see him pick up the butter dish and hold it to his chest.

Oh god. This was a mistake.

Though I suppose that's just another bad habit we have to break.

Though I'm now dreading this, I still have to ask, "do you know how to dance Snow?"

He shakes his head, curls splaying wildly. I chance a glance at him but he's still eating the goddamn butter so I recoil immediately after.

"Well, today is going to be a day full of learning for you then," I tell him still not looking at him, "I'll teach you to dance in the morning and the Bunce's are going to tutor you in the evening because you know about as much as my eight-year-old sister. It's quite pathetic you need help."

Maybe I'm being a little bit cruel. Unnecessarily so. But he's sitting opposite me ruining my breakfast by eating butter straight from the dish so as far as I'm concerned, I can be as cruel as I want.

Apparently, none of the matters though because Snow apparently fixates on one thing then stops listening. "Dancing? You're going to teach me to dance?"

"Of course."

"No," he says, clutching his half-empty butter dish to his chest even tighter, like instead of protecting  _ it  _ he now thinks it can protect him, "absolutely not, I won’t do it."

I ignore him because it's not like he has a choice.

As it happens, he will do it. He just  _ can't  _ do it.

I place a hand on his shoulder and clasp the other around his.

Snow seems uncomfortable being this close but I can't really find it in me to care. Hell, I'm uncomfortable being this close. I know he's stupid and useless and altogether undesirable, but that all slips away when I get close enough to make out individual stubby lashes and would have to move my lips mere inches to run my tongue across the mole on his cheek.

Still, I can't be expected to teach him how to be a gentleman if I can't manage it myself. "Hand on my bicep Snow," I snap as his fingers fall to my waist, it sends shivers down my spine for more reasons than merely the gargantuan task ahead of me.

He glares at me even though I haven't actually started to be mean yet but he does move his hand to my bicep, his touch light and hesitant.

"Good." I don't mean it as either praise nor sarcasm, but Snow bristles anyway. So, I tighten my grip in case he tries to make a run for it. He doesn't.

Then I slowly, so terribly painfully slowly, walk him through the steps.

But Snow has all the memory of a goldfish and the grace of a drunkard. So, things do not do well.

"Back with your left," I snap at him for what must be the dozenth time. In the past two minutes.

He growls at me. Actually, properly growls like an angry dog. Pathetic.

"That's your right," I say, letting out a long low puff of air, exactly as exasperated as he is, if not more.

A little bit longer passes and I basically resort to not telling Snow the moves and just aiming a kick at his ankle every time he needs to step back to really drive home the steps.

By the time lunch rolls around we haven't managed a single dance.

We eat silently, angrily.

I make sure there are no scones brought out and send the butter dish back into the kitchen as soon as I see it. Snow hurls a bread roll at me and it hits its mark against my cheek, but I still consider it a victory.

**Simon**

I don't know what I expected tutelage to be like. I assumed it could be no worse than dancing with Baz this morning.

I was right, but only because of Baz's absence.

Mitali Bunce is a sharp woman and a strict teacher and I don't think she likes me very much. Penny warned me about the first two, the last one I should have expected but didn't.

"Now, Simon, what do you know of politics?" she asks me, apparently not discouraged by my lack of knowledge of history or English or mathematics.

I just shrug and shake my head. It's not like we had private tutors when I was in the orphanage. It's not like Mage got me one when he took me in.

"Use your words please Simon."

Apparently, that's something I have to do now. For some reason in order to marry this prick, I have to become a master orator. I'm to take lessons in elocution too though I doubt I'll need them with the way Mitali seems intent on correcting every grammatical error I make.

"I know a bit," I try, unsure how to explain this. Words are hard. They never come easy and they never make sense and even when I get them out they're rarely in the right order. "The council right, it's all the major landowners and they..." I hesitate. What do they do? Aside from throw lavish parties and roll around in their own money. "Govern?"

Mitali clicks her tongue, I've learnt by now that means she's displeased. I still don't know what her being pleased sounds like though. "Not quite. They settle disputes yes, in a way I suppose they govern, but only over unowned land. And it's not landowners really, not any more. The Pitches aren't on it anymore, nor are any of the old powerful families. Surely Mage explained some of this when he took you in?"

I just shake my head. I don't know much about any of this.

Mitali stares at me for several long moments before I realise what she's waiting for.

"Uh- no. I don't get how any of this works."

"Next time without the 'uh' please Simon," she crinkles her nose as she says it as if the sound itself is distasteful outside a fully formed word. "The council, now that Mage is in charge, have instated something called public property. If people wish to join the council, they forfeit all their lands save that on which they live. They've also decided that any land left unclaimed, say after the death of the last member of the family, will also become council property."

I feel like this is something I should question, but frankly, I'm not sure what Mage has changed it  _ from _ . So I don't say anything. It's not like they explained the ins and outs of land ownership to an orphan who was probably just going to end up in the gutter after being tossed out when of age.

Still, I have one question at least, I think she likes it when I ask questions, Penny clued me in to that last night, "what is public property?"

"It's supposed to be for the people, you know, the peasantry and such, but really it's just anything Mage can assert his power over." She sounds annoyed. Most of these lessons, even the ones on historical atrocities, she's remained impassive and unbiased. Now though, a frown pulls at her brows and her lips form a thin line.

"You don't like that?"

Her gaze falls to the notes on her desk a moment, "no," she says blatantly, "I do not wish to speak ill of your guardian but since he hasn't deigned to explain the situation I shall. Those who join the council pay taxes and give tributes, I suspect you've already met miss Wellbelove?"

I nod and for once Mitali does not push me to speak.

"Well, the more Mage collects from those on the council, the more pressure he can put on those who aren't with him to forfeit their property. The House of Pitch withdrew years ago and yet, Mage still sends his militia knocking at least twice a month."

He took me in but really, I bare Mage little affection. At first, I did. He gave me a home and food and for at least a little while, attention. But as the months wore on, he'd barely speak to me and there's no one else on his estate save his men and the servants. The former are not the most pleasant of people, more pleasant than Baz certainly, but not good company by any stretch. So, I'd mostly busied myself with helping the servants. I didn't mind, but it made it easy to grow distant from my benefactor.

I don't understand why he'd bother taking me in if he's just going to ignore me.

I think maybe I have more questions but before I have time to sort through them a knocking sounds at the doorway. Baz stands there, a young girl at his side.

I've not met his half-siblings, I haven't even met his stepmother yet. Not formally. But there's something of a family resemblance, both in features and demeanour.

"As much as I'm sure you'd benefit from sitting in on Mordelia's lessons, Snow, I doubt it would help her."

"Simon can sit in if he wants," the girl says. I'm not sure if she'd oblivious or just trying to help me. "Lessons are boring but they're not as boring as you." Ah, so that then. Obviously being antagonistic is a Grimm trait, one I'm glad for in this moment.

"Thank you, but I'll leave you to it." I stand and make to follow Baz, giving Mordelia a smile on my way out and a nod of thanks to Mitali.

"It's your first lesson, so I'm not going to give you homework while you're getting settled in. But come next lesson I expect you to be making time for your studies." She calls after me.

Suddenly I feel somehow less thankful.

"That's not fair, I don't want homework," Mordelia says, sending the pair of them into an argument as Baz pulls me from the room.

Dinner is a dull affair again. I stop to wonder for a moment if my not being good enough to eat with his family is preventing Baz from eating with them. Then I remember it was his choice so I don't care.

Penny brings me a scone that night, one she's nicked from the kitchens. Firmly cementing her place as my favourite thing about this hell hole.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 months late but weves, I warned yall.

**Baz**

They say clothes make the man.

I say that's utter tosh.

Simon Snow stands in front of me, dressed from head to toe in some of the finest fabrics money can buy. Perfectly tailored trousers, a white button-up opaque enough for modesty but still translucent enough to hint at the moles on his back. Suit jackets and waistcoats tried on and decided upon at a frankly alarming pace.

Snow looks every bit the gentleman (sans the unruly curls but we can work with that) but in the end, it doesn't matter how nice the clothes because every time he opens his mouth the image is shattered.

"Isn't that a bit much?" He eyes a red and silver jacket with distrust, like he thinks it may bite him.

I'm not watching them measure and dress Snow of course. That would be improper. But I get to settle onto the lounge and watch as they bring out assorted outerwear and accessories.

I had been inclined to let Snow pick things he liked. But then he seemed quite taken with a rather garish purple and green number. I told him the only way we'd be taking it is if it was to be burnt for its crimes.

He's been pouting ever since.

"Snow, you showed up in boots, trousers and tunic in varied shades of brown, I worry you'd consider a grey suit 'a bit much'," I mock and he turns his pout on me again.

Father had said we should have just gotten some of my old things tailored for Snow. I insisted we buy him a whole new wardrobe.

I think it’s Father's way of trying to tell me this won’t last, that it isn't permanent and worth spending time and money on. This, in turn, is my way of telling him to sod off.

**Simon**

I feel daft.

Not in the way that Baz always tells me I'm daft, even though we’ve only known each other a few days.

But I know I look daft. All fitted pants and dress shirts and shoes so shined I can near enough see myself in them.

But it's also kind of nice.

I've never had clothes that fit me this well. They were always too tight in some places and too loose in others and they were too rough on my skin and they'd chafe.

Mage mostly gave me hand me downs. They were better than what I'd grown up with but far from as lavish as this.

It is annoying though, being paraded around in front of Baz while he tries to convince me that more fanciful things are somehow better. But for all the ridiculous things he forces me into, he does allow me to get some plainer things as well. Singularly coloured waistcoats and jackets, those embroidered with only a slightly different shade, things that are just nice as opposed to ornate.  Maybe because he knows I won’t wear the one with multicoloured flowers decorating it, or anything brightly coloured.

I'm not used to standing out. It’s easier just to melt into the backdrop and let the world take its course around me.

That's what it had done until now.

Baz gets me pyjamas too. I try to tell him I won’t wear them- that it's too hot to sleep in anything but pants.

He just gawks at me (until he collects himself at least) and the lightest shade of pink makes its way across dark features. And then he orders me several pairs.

It's odd- being doted on by someone who does so little to hide their distaste for me.

He snarls and glares but he buys me nice things and does (somewhat) listen to my preferences on them, even if he won’t listen to my protests. And he mightn't allow me scones or a whole dish of butter at meals anymore, but the food is still better than anything I've had. He shoves me into lessons and tasks but uses his own time to escort me between them.

I should ask Penny.

I will ask Penny.

**Penelope**

I might have only known Simon for a few days, but I worry for him. I don't think he's had many friends. I've not had a great many friends either.

Also, Mum says that Malcolm is convinced he won’t be sticking around so I shouldn't get too attached. That I don't need a long-distance best friend as well as a long-distance boyfriend.

So obviously I've decided we're friends.

I already have Agatha and Baz, that's a friend and a half in close proximity. And generally, I'd think that was enough.

But I  _ like  _ Simon. Ill-mannered vulgarity and all. It's a nice break from the upper-class types that always hang around here.

So, I did some digging.

"You don't want this, do you?" I ask as we sit on his bed, sharing a small plate of scones. It was one the first night, apparently, I've severely underestimated his appetite though. So, It's four tonight. I might have to make it six tomorrow.

He shakes his head, "No." I consider asking if he means no he doesn't want this or no, he does want this, but he looks positively miserable, even in his new silk pyjamas, so I don't need to.

"So, I asked Mum, and apparently all this marriage stuff is contingent on Baz being able to fix you."

Simon's brow crinkles, "fix me?"

"Make you a posh twat," I supply. That makes him laugh some at least. "So, I figure if you don't want to do this, just keep acting out?"

"Acting out?" He almost looks a little offended.

I just wave him off, "be unruly. Don't let Baz tell you what to do."

He seems to contemplate my words for a few moments before nodding, "yeah. Yeah, I can do that." He grins at me and I can't help but grin back at him.

But then he chews his lip for a moment, thinking something over.

"Pen, why does your Mum hate Mage so much?"

I think maybe he's worried about annoying me with the question, but I really don't care. And I won’t hold back, he asked a question, he'll get the answer.

"Well Mum used to work at the university, then Mage got his hands on it."

"And she quit?"

I shake my head, "she got fired, "they were overstaffed and underfunded apparently, but there hadn't been any problems before Mage took it over. He got rid of Mum and a good chunk of the teaching staff, mainly women, he's a bit of a sexist."

Simon looks like he's thinking it over, then like he's come to a decision. He just nods, accepting, not questioning.

"And then," I continue, "my older brother Premal just went off and joined his militia. Mum was livid. So livid she took up a job with the Pitches specifically to spite them."

I suppose that's another thing that doesn't make sense about all this. Baz and Simon  _ marrying _ . Mage's heir marrying into the family of his worst enemies. Why even taken an heir who isn't yours if you're not going to keep them? Land maybe? Simon in exchange for some of the Pitch estates? I can't imagine the Pitches agreeing to that though. I brought it up with Mum but she was just as confused (and suspicious) as me.

But she also said it's not our problem.

It mightn't be  _ our  _ problem, but it is mine. Because Simon and I are friends and that makes his problems, my problems.

**Baz**

Weeks of dealing with Snow and I've still made little to no progress. This is much more difficult than I thought.

Snow is much more difficult than I thought.

Which is why I'm currently traipsing around the estate trying to figure out where in hell he's gotten to. It's been raining all morning so I let him off on going to the stables with Wellbelove. I'm beginning to think that was a mistake and I need to have someone babysit him.

I do find him, eventually, after cornering Bunce and enlisting her for the hunt.

Bunce as it turns out, is absolutely no help, save the tawdry brightness of her hair as she leans against the courtyard sparring ring.

It's stopped raining at least, but I still can't imagine it's the most pleasant of battlegrounds. I confirm this as I take a place beside her.

"Thanks for your help," I mutter to her, pouring as much sarcasm as I can into those words.

"I found him, didn't I?"

"How long ago?"

"About fifteen minutes."

I sigh and shake my head, looking over to Snow where he's entered the ring and is circling an opponent, displaying a grace I'd have thought him incapable of if I weren't seeing it for myself. Good. I can use that.

But before I can raise an arm to stop the match or call Snow over, Bunce gives me a sidelong glance. "He enjoys this you know? Just give him one more round."

I examine Snow for a moment, already caked in dirt and mud, so obviously going to need a bath whether is allow him another bout or not and grinning like an idiot. I'm not sure I've ever seen him grin like that before. I've barely seen him smile at all. Certainly not since I took his scones. I don't get so much as a twitch of his lips unless he's found some reason to laugh at me.

He looks gorgeous when he smiles. And right now, his grin is so warm, so happy, I'm entirely sure it would reduce me to ash, or melt me, whichever came first. Regardless, I think for a moment it's best he's never directed it at me for that is one move I doubt I'd survive.

I don't pay heed to the exact moves of the fight, I don't know enough about swordplay to pretend to understand it. Perhaps I should find a book on the subject if we are to be wed.

I don't have to understand it to see how good Snow is at it though. His steps are quick and his blade somehow quicker. Blocking, parrying, jabbing. Steel clashes against steel, the sounds slice through the air like the blades themselves.

Perhaps if all of Mage's men are as talented as Snow, we have cause for concern. Maybe this is all a ruse, to test the mettle of our own guard. One that's only become a real necessity since Mage started raising his militia.

Still, I can't bring myself to stop him. Swinging a sword like it's an extension of his arm, stepping back and forth in response to the moves of his partner, or to force them to make some. Like some kind of deadly dance. Except Snow is actually good at this. Good enough to lead.

He wins.

I should perhaps be concerned that he can best one of our guards but the pair seem amicable enough. Snow clasps Gareth's arm and pulls him to his feet. Rhys, wheelchair-bound but still as versed in this particular art as ever, snaps critiques at his friend as Snow turns to look to Penelope.

The smile slips from his face when he sees me. I'm unsure if I'm disappointed or relieved. Possibly both. I pretend to be neither. Pretend not to care at all.

With a sigh, he returns the sword and makes his way over to me. Another man might've apologised perhaps, faltered under my gaze. Snow never does though, I admire that, begrudgingly, though it's that same stubbornness that I fear makes it so difficult to fix him.

Instead, he just jumps the waist-high fence that marks the sparring ring.

"Penelope," he practically growls, ignoring me for the moment at least. It wouldn't be the first time.

"What? I didn't help, he found you himself, I told him to check your room again," she responds to Snow's unvoiced accusation. Evidently ignoring me too.

Unfortunately for the pair of them, I'm not content enough with being ignored to let them continue their conversation.

"You need a bath, let's go," I walk away.

Snow doesn't follow.

I keep walking. Confident in the knowledge that I hold that which Snow holds most dear hostage, his meals.

I'm right.

It’s only a few moments more until I hear the tell-tale scrape of (frankly exorbitant amounts) of gravel Snow kicks up as he jogs after me.

**Simon**

Baz he never mentioned anything about the swordplay. I expected anger I suppose, annoyance, a good lecture on how it wasn't 'proper' but he said nothing and I don't entirely understand why.

Even so, it shapes up to be a long few weeks.

Penny is still brilliant, she still brings me scones and has been poking at her mum to find out more about this arranged marriage business. It hasn't yielded anything and I didn't exactly ask her to, but I appreciate it. And she's declared us best friends, which I'm more than happy with.

Penny's Mum is not as brilliant but I'm mostly sure she doesn't hate me now, so I mostly like her in return. Baz's family is nice from what I've seen of them, which, given I'm supposed to join their family isn't near enough. Because Baz won’t let me eat with them. Because Baz is still a massive prick and by far the worst thing about this place.

Agatha is-

Agatha is Agatha. Pretty and nice and gentle, if very posh and weirdly obsessive about horses.

Sometimes I wonder about Agatha. I wonder if maybe I could somehow marry her instead. Ride off on a horse into the sunset (with her driving preferably) while I give Baz the finger over my shoulder.

Agatha would be tolerable, good even.

"It's not about going as fast as you possibly can, Simon," she calls after me, reminding me that, though she might be perfect, I am far from it.

With Baz that doesn't really matter. Mainly because I don't give a toss about what he thinks and the less perfect I am, the less likely it is that I'll have to stay with him after all this. Agatha though? It just feels like even if she wanted it. Even if I wanted it. That wouldn't matter because I wouldn't be good enough for her.

After several tries, I manage to slow the horse, which is still many less than the amount of kicks it takes me to get it started again back in the direction of Agatha.

She seems a little miffed but still tries her best to make polite conversation as she leads me out across the grounds, further than we usually go.

Apparently, the Pitches keep livestock. Or, goats at least.

"Hiya, Agatha," a woman's voice calls out. I wouldn't have noticed her were it not for her frantic waving and the stark red of an old jumper standing out against the pile of goats she's sitting amidst, "who's your friend?"

Agatha slows her horse and makes her way over, leaning across to me and doing the same to my horse with little but a gentle tug on the reigns. She slides off gracefully and I follow with my usual dismount which consists mainly of falling.

"Hello Ebb, this is Simon, he's Baz's next betrothed," Agatha introduces me. I'd protest if I wasn't more than a little busy detangling myself from the saddle (why do horses need so many straps?).

I dust my hands off on my pants, my old pants, I'd managed to get Baz to concede to letting me wear them to horse riding. I'd consider it a win if he hadn't made some annoying comments about them basically being covered in horse shit already. They're not. Not at the start of our rides at least.

I offer Ebb a hand, "Simon Snow, uh- hi."

She shakes my hand and offers me a warm smile. Warmer than I've come to expect around here. "Hi, Simon," she doesn't say it cruelly or mockingly, but she's still smiling and she pats the grass in front of her in a gesture for me to sit.

"He's not much for words I'm afraid," Agatha says sounding more mournful of that fact than I appreciate.

A goat nudges at my shoulder as I sit and I reach out carefully to rub it.

"'S alright, the goats aren't either," Ebb says, still smiling softly.

I return her smile, not sure what else to say.

I'm not sure what to say when Agatha slings herself back up into the saddle and trots off with her horse either. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to follow or stay. But I want to stay, goats are skittish and have those weird rectangular pupils, but they're also less than half my size so not near as worrying as horses. And I won’t have to ride one.

Agatha doesn't call for me, so I assume it's okay to stay.

Ebb and I don't talk much. Occasional topics come up, Baz, my family (or lack of), her family. They usually die down and leave us in a comfortable silence. Or Ebb starts crying but after my initial panic, I figure she's just like that. I'm not sure how to comfort people really anyway.

The silence is nice. It feels like nothing is ever silent here. Baz is always snapping at me to fix my posture or eat with the right fork. Mitali is pressing me to talk when she isn't explaining things to me. Penny will rant for hours if I let her, into the early hours of the morning.

Penny's in my room right up until I'm about to fall asleep (and sometimes past that point) and servants wake me in the morning. Silence is a rare thing here.

I thought I'd had enough of it back with Mage, when I'd spend most of my days alone, trying desperately to entertain myself and manage to get more than a few words out of him.

But there's a difference between the silence of being alone and that of sitting calmly with another. The former is awful but the latter feels like bliss after weeks of constantly being talked at or having to talk too.

It's not that I mind Penny's chatter, it's nice. And it's not that I want to think- thinking is never good. But this is good and nice and comforting amidst the confusion that is my life right now.

But as much as I cherish it even, I can only sit in silence so long.

"Are goats the only animals around here? Aside from horses, obviously."

Ebb gives a small shrug, "yeah, Natasha Pitch brought me on back in the day. There were other people back then, now it's just me."

"Why?" I ask before I have a moment to remember Mitali's points on thinking before I speak.

"Mage's taxes for one, and I suppose they didn't want all those animals anymore really."

She doesn't seem particularly annoyed by my questions, so I keep asking them. "Why goats though, why not something useful like cows? Milk and meat."

Ebb runs her hand down a goat’s back as it walks past, devouring all grass in its path. "Goats have milk too."

I don't tell her that goat's milk is horrible, I know enough to keep at least that to myself.

"Also because of Fiona I think, she and I were friends growing up and Baz has a soft spot for her. Invited me to live in their mansion and everything, but I prefer it out here, with the goats." She explains ruffling her hair with a hand specked in dirt.

"Baz?"

"He's not evil, Simon." I open my mouth to protest but for once she cuts me off. "Now that's not me saying you should marry him, just- people aren't all bad."

"He won’t let me eat scones," I complain for what feels like the billionth time. Though I think I may need a billion more before I work through this. Ebb just gives me another smile. "That's not what I meant though- shouldn't it be up to Malcolm, not Baz?"

I'm not sure if I'm more confused by the assertion or terrified that Baz has far more power here than I expected.

"No, Baz, he's the heir to the house of Pitch after all."

I don't know what to make of that but I figure the goat that settles between us, munching away, is an indicator I should leave it there and direct my confusion to Penny when next I see her.

Agatha comes and gets me and we ride back together to where Baz always comes to collect me. We have to dance again this afternoon, so I almost consider asking Ebb to let me hide out with her. I'm almost sure she'd let me too.

I suppose I should be annoyed that Agatha palmed me off on Ebb. But really, I don't like the horses and I do like Ebb. And I think Agatha likes to be able to go and practice her dressage, she never gets to when I'm around.

So, I'm not mad she left me. And I don't want Baz to have a go at her, even though I'm not sure he will. I think me, Mordelia and Penny are really the only people he has a go at, and I'm the only one he does it to properly. But still, I don't want her to suffer through that, even if it means I have to suffer through dancing with Baz instead.

And it is suffering.

His sneer is twice as annoying as usual when it's mere inches from my face and his remarks twice as biting. There is something thoroughly discomforting about having someone snap at you while also holding your hand. It makes it worse, his hand in mine, his bicep under my palm, his scent invading my senses. I feel the way he tenses whenever I make a mistake, can practically feel the exasperation under his skin.

But now that I'm messing up on purpose, I get a smug sort of satisfaction from it, even as he chews me out.

"Really Snow, it's not that hard, how have you not improved  _ at all _ ?" he hisses out into the small space between us. At least that means he hasn't realised I'm doing this on purpose yet, maybe some good can come of him thinking I'm an idiot.

"It might be easy enough for you, you grew up doing it," I growl back at him, even if this is all part of the plan to not have to spend the rest of my life with him, the anger in my tone is genuine, it's not nice being treated like a child. "You think you could just pick up a sword and be a master?"

He scoffs, "can you do it?"

"Yes," I snap back, for once, with conviction.

"Then it must be simple."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well then, tell you what, we'll go get a couple of swords and let's see if that's true."

Baz looks me up and down for a few moments, eyes narrowed, his grip loosens for a moment. I expect him to say he won’t arm me, or that it would be a waste of his time.

"Alright, Snow," escapes the permanent sneer across his lips.

He never concedes, never even waivers, so I'm so unprepared for his assent that the moment he voices it my response is still for the rejection I assumed to be coming, "scared?"

It's not masterfully crafted wit as Mitali hopes to one day teach me to at least mimic, but I've never been good with words, it had taken far too long to prepare just the one. And I didn't even get to use it properly.

Baz's lip just quirks, less sneer more smile for a moment, but cruel and mocking all the while. "Are you? You seem to be relying on me rejecting your offer."

I go to respond but it's more growl than word, though that’s for the best because I'm not entirely sure what words it was I was attempting to say.

I toss my head at his laughter and stomp out of the room towards the courtyard, wanting nothing more than to level a sword at him. The want doubles when I see he's trailing behind me with hands in pockets and a lazy, arrogant smirk plastered across too-perfect lips.

**Baz**

This was a mistake.

I knew it the moment I agreed to this.

And I knew it on the walk here.

And I know it now as Snow offers me the hilt of a wooden sword.

The moment I reach for it he pulls it back. "Correct your stance."

"Helpful instruction."

"No worse than yours," he snaps back, apparently having gained a little confidence now that he has a sword in his hand. Perhaps that should worry me more.

I scoff and roll my eyes, "I at least would tell you what the correct stance is before insisting on correcting it."

"Would you, though?"

"I have thus far, it's not my fault you're too dim to manage a sentence of more than a handful of words, or words of more than two syllables."

Fire ignites in his eyes at that. Maybe it should scare me. Maybe it does. Right now, I'm more excited than anything, an emotion easy enough to school into amusement as it breaks my skin.

Perhaps I shouldn't be excited. I'll most likely lose.

But Snow looked gorgeous the last time I saw him swing a blade. Smiling and laughing and sharp as that which he wields. And because I know that no matter how awful I am at this, I will never be quite as terrible as Snow is at dancing.

He's not smiling now though, he's scowling at me and holding a sword he could probably take my head off with despite it not being sharpened steel.

"You just need to - just - why won't-" and then he just growls again, more because of himself or me I can't be sure. He gives up quickly though and takes to just manoeuvring me into position.

It's not half as sensual as one would expect, not romantic in the least. More awkward than anything else.

He mostly pokes at me with the wooden sword but will sometimes grab me and move my arms or my legs or at one point my hips so I was facing him side on. Still, even that wasn't the most pleasant or kindly of touches.

I'm not even sure he finishes, just waves a hand in what might be defeat, holds the sword out to me again and storms off to get his own the moment I grasp it.

I don't think this is about teaching me, this is vengeance plain and simple, but I knew that coming into this.

He's not violent with me, not exactly. I can deflect the occasional blow but the majority land home on my chest or arms or a particularly sharp one at my ankles that topples me.

But there's still a level of calm to it. He doesn't aim for my head. When he breaks my guard, he only hits me once and I'm almost certain he pulls each hit before they land. Though I'll certainly have bruises, the point he's trying to make isn't that he can kill me any time he chooses, just that not everything comes easy.

And yet. I improve, substantially, over the course of it, I think. Or perhaps he's just diffusing some. But I block more swings and dodge the occasional one, even if the all-important stance that got him so worked up was quickly abandoned.

So, I'm left wondering how one who can move like this, stepping towards me as I step away and dodging back easily the moment I try to strike, can't dance. For surely the steps to that are easier, outlined in full and never changing.

This though? This is a mess. And yet every time I move I swear he's already dodging or striking like he knows what I'll do before I do it. Perhaps he's just so practised. Or perhaps I'm predictable.

I don't have time to ponder it, not now at least.

"We done yet? Surrendering?" he asks, his prior anger melted out into a smug sort of confidence, a smirk plastered across his lips that tugs unfairly at my chest.

I quash that feeling and manage a meagre "no," between pants.

But Snow seems to dislike the response, maybe he likes the feeling I so desperately hate too because he seems determined to bring it back.

He parries my next swing easily and tosses the sword from my hand and across the circle.

I think for one foolish moment that that's the end.

But then he jumps atop me, tripping me backwards into the dirt and planting his hips firmly across my stomach, the unsharpened edge of the wooden sword pressed to my throat. I lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, Snow's weight on my stomach not helping the matter. His face in my vision not helping either.

And his face  _ is  _ a vision. Sweat soaked curls sticking to his forehead, eyes alive with something I haven't seen in him before and his stupid intolerable smirk still decorating his face.

God am I suddenly glad he's seated himself on my stomach not my hips at that moment, breathing be damned.

"Surrender?" he asks again, a faux sweetness in his voice this time that still manages to carve through my innards worse than he could with any blade.

But I shove all of that down. Want and longing and the promise of something so close to my grasp but seeming ever more out of my reach with each passing moment. And I think of him eating butter with a spoon across the breakfast table, or my little sister being able to run academic rings around him, or the fact that of all people he's Mage's heir.

I conjure up all those things, all the things I don't like about Simon Snow, all the things about him that repulse me to ward off whatever it is he's making me feel right now.

And it works.

Barely.

But it works.

But I can't help but think it doesn't work as well as last time. I can't help but worry it mightn't work at all next time.

Yet the question lingers in the air the way his blade lingers against my throat. And I smirk because I'm a Pitch and we don't grovel and beg mercy. "You'll have to kill me."

He laughs and rolls his eyes, letting the sword fall from his fingertips but not leaving his seat atop me. Whether it's for his own enjoyment or merely to torture me, I can't say. But it is torture nonetheless and one I enjoy terribly.

"Whatever, we both know you lost." he grins down at me like a fool, one stray curl losing its place against his forehead to dangle between us, I follow the movement with an intensity unwarranted for a lock of hair.

But it doesn't feel like I've lost. The only loss I get is that blissful, agonising moment he stands and sets about putting things in their rightful place.

I need a bath, as does Snow. So, I figure that will be it for the day and escort a still grinning Snow back to the manor. A grin that, for once, does not falter in my presence.

And should that smile not be the death of me before we part ways for the evening, I think that maybe, I have a plan.


End file.
